


A Gulf Between Worlds

by Haberdasher



Series: Twitch Plays Pokemon [15]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Twitch Plays Pokemon (Let's Play)
Genre: Gen, Twitch Plays Black, Twitch Plays Pokemon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The experience of Gulf, the female protagonist briefly chosen in Black after TPP beat the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gulf Between Worlds

Gulf blinked, and her head filled with voices.

Part of her thought she should be afraid, but fear wasn’t even on her radar as she started moving around the room. Mostly she was excited. One of her friends had told her about the voices once upon a time, and about how they always led their hosts to greatness, and the epic journeys that these heroes underwent before their stories became legends. It had to be Cheren that had told her that, after reading it who knows where, and though Gulf couldn’t remember the conversation, she knew exactly how it must have gone. She could picture quite clearly Cheren’s wide-eyed look of enthusiasm, his rapid speech and over-the-top hand gestures as he rambled on about his latest interest. Gulf couldn’t help but smile as the thoughts of her happy childhood with Cheren- and Bianca, too, of course Bianca too- filled her head.

Oh, and there they were now! Bianca was bounding up the stairs, late as always, just as she had been… Gulf couldn’t quite remember when Bianca had been late last, the memories of her lateness blending together into an overarching fact of Bianca’s personality. Or maybe it was just the voices impeding her concentration- they were screaming about something, very unhappy, though she couldn’t quite ascertain the cause. They used words and phrases she knew in contexts seemingly unrelated. Why were they speaking of a reset when her journey was just starting, or of death when her new life with the voices had just begun? Nonsense, all of it.

It all went by so fast; it seemed as though the conversation took no time at all until they asked her to pick her first Pokemon. A Pokemon,  _her_ Pokemon, hers for the taking! Gulf had always wanted to be a Pokemon Trainer, and as three Poke Balls sat before her, her mind swam with images of what could be, of her taking down preschoolers and Gym Leaders alike with trusted Pokemon companions by her side. But she couldn’t picture herself with any of the three that stood before her, at least not at first. The Pokemon she imagined were the two she had loved all her life, Klinklang and Accelgor. Maybe if she was lucky, the voices would let her let them both, and she could use her favorites to fight her way to glory.

But that would all come later. For now, Gulf had to choose one of the three starter Pokemon before her, and sadly, neither Klinklang nor Accelgor- or their pre-evolutions- were among the choices. The voices were surprising quiet, with only a few dozen speaking rather than the thousands that had filled the heads of other heroes, so Gulf felt confident that she could work together with them to help choose her first companion.

Snivy, Tepig, Oshawott. Snivy was alright, she guessed, and the voices seemed to kind of like it, but Gulf had never been all that big on Grass-types. And Tepig… just the idea of picking Tepig gave Gulf a queasy feeling in her gut, one that the input of the voices only intensified. They spoke of a curse, some kind of fire curse. So Tepig was right out.

Oshawott, then. And the voices seemed to agree, doing nothing to impede her motion as she grabbed the Poke Ball on the right. Then Bianca wanted to battle, and Gulf was all too willing to accept the challenge, to see for herself what this being a Trainer business was all about.

She beat Bianca easily, and when Cheren stepped up to the plate for another round, he lost easily too. Cheren, who’d spent whole days locked in his room studying battle strategies, lost to the voices, lost to  _her_! She had to stop herself from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. Cheren had told her of the voices long ago, but she was the one to reap the rewards of being their host… and, a thought niggling at the back of her mind reminded her, to suffer through the inevitable pains and losses along the way.

Cheren was nagging Bianca about how much they’d ruined Gulf’s room by fighting in it, but she just couldn’t muster up the concern to be bothered by it. It was undeniably true that the room was a wreck- furniture turned upside-down, footprints all over the walls, blankets ripped to pieces. But a messy room was better than no room at all, right? And there were people out there who would’ve killed for a room like this, her mother reminded her of that so very often. Its being messy was a minor issue, all things considered; better to be grateful for what she had. And, after all, with the voices around, she wouldn’t be staying in this room much longer.

As Bianca and Cheren plodded down the stairs leading from her room to the rest of the house, Gulf was left alone with the voices, which were trying to make her follow her friends downstairs but mostly just making her ram into her upturned table and filthy walls. They were still rioting- that was their word for it,  _RIOT_ , one that she agreed seemed fitting- about… something.  _You idiots messed up. I wanted post-game. WE KILLED JIMMY!_ Though most of their speech was as incomprehensible as always, Gulf vaguely recognized the name Jimmy. Where had she heard that name before? Was it one of the old hosts that Cheren had spoken of before? That seemed to be it, based on what the voices were saying, but as she tried to think of this mysterious figure, her mind filled with a lifelike image of his face with details far exceeding those found in the history books.

Gulf tripped and fell once she finally reached the stairs, careening headfirst into the ground. As she checked herself for wounds- a few scrapes, nothing too bad so far- and pushed herself back up, she thought not of the voices, not of the upcoming journey, not even of the small aches and pains that would likely be replaced with bigger ones as time went by, but of how clean the floor was. There wasn’t a speck of dirt to be found on it; it positively gleamed. Her mother must have been working on it all day, but when Gulf looked up at her mother, she didn’t look tired or sweaty at all, and her hands were just as unsoiled as the floor. And her voice didn’t show any signs of strain or distress, even when she confessed to having dirtied her room, giving her mother even more unpleasant housework to deal with.

Her mother was so good to her. So kind, so giving, so loving… She was perfect.

Too perfect.

Gulf’s pulse pounded as she ceased to take in her surroundings as she became lost in thought. This woman, with her beautifully manicured nails, her singsong voice, her uncomplaining demeanor… she couldn’t remember seeing her before in her life. Whoever that woman was, it wasn’t her mother.

And then she started putting the pieces together, and the world came crashing down.

She didn’t have a single childhood memory of playing with Cheren and Bianca. Not only could she not think of a single instance of Bianca being late, she couldn’t remember any of Cheren’s obsessions, or any time they had been together before now. She couldn’t think of a time she’d sat in her room and watched shows on that giant TV, or even when she’d fallen asleep in her bed…

That wasn’t her mother, they weren’t her friends, this wasn’t her house. It was a lie, all of it a lie. And as she thought about it further- her mind long since having tuned out her mother’s speech and the voices’ cries of  _RIOT_ \- she realized an even more central lie that had somehow established itself in her consciousness. Her name wasn’t even Gulf, was it? No, she’d never been Gulf, her name was…

"Guys, she’s waking up!"

Hilda opened her eyes. Her mind was still foggy, and it took her a few minutes before she could fully process what she was seeing. It was dark- she was in the subway- there were two men in white- they had gas masks on- the air was a pale pink, and it smelled like flowers and chocolate and all the beautiful scents that never made their way down here, though the rank odors of the subway were slowly reasserting themselves…

And, as the men in white recalled a Pokemon that was almost the same shade of pink as the air, Hilda began to understand. That Pokemon- it was a Musharna, wasn’t it? And Musharna… they were Psychics, and they had some kind of… it put something in the air…

The men in white were running away, their hands filled with Poke Balls, that of the Musharna as well as several others. Her hands reached for her own Poke Balls, but found that they were missing, and her ears filled with the cackling of those retreating. She tried to stand up, but her legs were wobbly and only supported her for a few seconds before she had to sit back down.

Then, as the mist receded and Hilda’s mind unclouded, tears started streaming down her face. She was sure she hadn’t wanted to cry, but that didn’t stop the tears from falling, mingling with the filth that coated the subway floor. It was pathetic, she knew, downright pathetic for her to just sit here and bawl and give up. She hadn’t cried this hard since she was a much younger girl. But then, she hadn’t been without her Pokemon since back then, either. Klinklang and Accelgor… well, they had been Klink and Shelmet back then, the two maturing as she did… They were the only ones who ever fought for her, the only friends she had in this rough dirty world, the ones who would look out for her when everybody else just saw her as a weakling and a target.

And now? Even if she had the strength to get up and chase after the thieves, she didn’t have Pokemon to battle theirs, no way of fighting back against their misdeeds. They had taken away the only protection Hilda had ever known. She might as well just sit here and cry her eyes out; what use was there in fighting a losing battle?

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, crying until she ran out of tears. But eventually, somebody came by. Not the men in white, but a boy her own age, with a face that she had remembered even when all else had left her.

"…Jimmy?"

Jimmy ran over to her side, his face going pale as he saw her sorry state. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Hilda gasped out a few words between sniffles and deep breaths. “Voices… and Dream Mist, and… men in white… they… Klinklang and Accelgor… they’re gone…”

"Somebody took your Pokemon?" Jimmy crouched down to Hilda’s level and looked her in the eye. "Men in white, you said? Not Plasma, was it?"

Plasma… that’s right, she’d seen Team Plasma grunts wandering around down here a few times, in those dorky outfits, the grime of the subway staining their stupid… white uniforms… “Er… might’ve been.”

Jimmy swore under his breath. “Thought that they… Never mind. I’ll make sure we get them back, I promise. They won’t get away with this.”

"Good."

Jimmy stood back up, a smile on his face. “Come on then, let’s go after them!”

Hilda tried to stand up again, but fell back down. “I…”

"Oh. Well." Jimmy coughed, and Hilda quieted her sniffling. "Take my hand, then."

Jimmy held out his hand, and Hilda reached out and grabbed it, and he pulled her up as much as she pulled herself up. Her legs burned, and her dry throat ached, and her head pounded, and she could barely walk even with Jimmy holding her up every step of the way, but as Hilda hacked and hobbled her way forward while holding tightly onto Jimmy’s hand, feeling the smoothness and warmth of his touch, she felt confident that everything was going to be okay.


End file.
